Raid

: MAIN STORY
: The Alembic Plot

Wednesday, 25 March 2572



The next morning, when Powell offered to help her into lightweight

Enforcement body armor, Blackfeather accepted gladly. She'd found out

the previous evening, at the same time she'd found out what the term

'unity' meant to those who were Sealed, that his Enforcement commission

was another of the exceptions surrounding Cortin; he was barely

seventeen, and his pose of being veteran was exactly that, a pose.

But he was no rookie inside, and that unity had given her considerable

respect for the Protector's youngest Sealed.



"How does that feel, Sara?" he asked when she was suited up. "I can

adjust it some, if it doesn't fit quite right."



Blackfeather moved experimentally, then grinned at him. "It's fine,

Chuck. Now what about Sis?"



"She doesn't need armor; she won't be going in until after the action's

over. Mike doesn't want her going in at all, but she says if he can,

so can she, and he couldn't argue that. At least she's promised

this'll be the last time till after she has the baby."



"And the Colonel? Even if His Majesty has forbidden her, I'm surprised

she'd stay out of her team's--and Family's--first official action."



"She doesn't have any choice," Powell said regretfully. "It's a legal

order and her Enforcement oath is valid; disobeying would be a sin, and

that's something none of the Sealed can do. If we had reason to

believe any of the ones who tortured her would be among the attackers,

she'd be free to go with us, but none of the information we have even

hints at that. So she's stuck here."



"In her place, I'd hate that," Blackfeather said, feeling more sympathy

for the Inquisitor than she'd have thought possible a few days ago.

"At least we can make sure we give her a complete report."



* * * * *



The only thing that helped Cortin's frustration at being kept out of

the convent defense was saying Mass, and that only helped for the brief

time it was going on. By the time it was over, though, she'd come to

one conclusion: His Majesty had ordered her not to get into the action,

but he hadn't said anything about not going to the Palace

communications center to listen to the tactical radio!



But following the defense that way was less informative than she'd

hoped. She wasn't familiar enough with the terrain to visualize the

deployment, which made movement orders impossible to follow. About all

she could be sure of was that the Royals were winning, even though they

were taking heavier casualties than she liked or had expected. She

couldn't help praying that none of her people were among the dead and

wounded, though she felt a little uncomfortable asking for that sort of

special consideration; if the casualties weren't from her team, they

had others who'd care as strongly about them.



At last it sounded like the fighting must be about over; Bradford was

ordering the prisoners taken to a holding area and calling in the

medevac units. As further transmissions showed things were winding up,

she decided she might as well go back to the Lodge and make one final

check of her preparations before prisoners started arriving. She was

thanking the communications techs for their courtesy when Bradford's

voice again came from the radio. "Palace Com, this is Strike Leader.

Request Azrael be contacted and asked to join us at her earliest

convenience."



"Azrael is on scene, Strike Leader," the tech said. "One moment,

please."



Cortin took the microphone he offered. "Azrael here, Strike Leader.

What's the problem?"



"Prisoner evaluation. We have some here who present unexpected

problems, and I would appreciate your expertise."



"Unexpected problems?" That didn't sound too likely, Cortin

thought--Brad and Dave both had more specialty-time than she did,

though she had to admit that her position had probably given her a

wider variety of cases. Still, likely or not, she wasn't about to

argue with anything that would get her out into the field, however

briefly. "I'll be there as soon as I can find transportation. Azrael

out."



To her surprise, fifteen minutes later she was airborne and well on her

way to the convent. His Majesty had both ground and air transportation

available at no notice, of course, and as one of the King's Own she was

allowed to use elements of the Royal Fleet--but she hadn't expected to

be able to use one of the alert craft!



The pilot circled the battlefield, more to avoid throwing dirt and

rocks on the wounded than to let her observe--though it did that as

well--following a ground controller's orders to land on the convent

lawn near the temporary prisoner holding pen. Before, she'd always

been in combat gear, exiting a helicopter; this was easier, in her

service uniform, though she did have a little trouble holding onto the

wide-brimmed hat. When she was clear and the copter had lifted off,

moving back several hundred meters to wait for her, she took another

look at the battlefield from this more familiar perspective. It was

clearer to her this way, a bigger scene of carnage than she'd imagined

it could be, and she found herself appalled at the unnecessary damage

and loss of life. Compassionate Mother of God, what could the Brothers

hope to gain from all this? At least the convent showed no major signs

of damage, nothing worse than a few bullet pocks, and the Blue Sisters

were working with Enforcement medics, as usual, to help the wounded.



She heard the rustle of heavy cloth behind her, and turned to see

Bradford--who looked surprisingly comfortable, for a senior officer, in

battle gear--and a nun she supposed to be Reverend Mother Superior Mary

Gabriel. She returned Bradford's salute, bowed to the nun. "I hope

none of the sisters were hurt."



"No, thank God," Bradford said. "We were able to warn them, then

ambush the terrorists far enough away the Sisters were never in any

real danger. Would Your Excellency care for a copy of my report?"



"Thank you, Colonel, but it won't be necessary; Team Azrael will brief

me. I would appreciate it if you have time to visit Harmony Lodge this

evening, though. Ah--were any of Team Azrael hurt?"



"Not seriously," Mother Gabriel said. "Lieutenant Degas was hit in the

side, Lieutenant Powell in the leg. They are in no danger, and are

able to travel, but I think it would be best if Your Excellency

permitted them to remain here for three or four days."



"Whatever you think best, Mother Superior. May I see them?"



"There would be no point, Excellency; they are still under anesthetic.

I will be glad to tell them you asked for them, however." She smiled,

more warmly than Cortin had learned to expect from healer to

Inquisitor. "I understand we have Your Excellency to thank for

Enforcement's timely intervention and the welfare of our patients."



"And Lieutenant Powell," Cortin said. "He's the one who infiltrated

the Brothers and came back with the original information that let me

know what questions to ask."



Mother Gabriel frowned briefly at that reminder, then her expression

smoothed. "It has become obvious Your Excellency does God's work with

His full approval, whatever I may think personally of the means

employed. We are grateful for your help, and we would appreciate your

blessing."



That was a perfectly understandable attitude from a healer, Cortin

thought. Raising her hand, she drew the Triune's symbol in the air.

"May all three Aspects of God protect and guide you and the holy

Sisters."



"And pray for the Protector's appearance," Odeon said, approaching.

"The prisoners are ready for you, Colonel."



"Thank you, Captain. If you'll excuse us, Mother Superior, I'd like

Colonel Bradford to accompany us." When Mother Gabriel nodded, she and

Bradford followed Odeon toward the holding pen. Her second-in-command

had a bloody bandage around his left bicep, but it didn't seem to

bother him, and Mother Gabriel hadn't mentioned it, so it was probably

no more than a flesh wound--not worth worrying about, so she didn't

comment on it. Instead, she asked, "How did Blackfeather react? Did

she give you any trouble?"



"Not at all. In fact, if she hadn't called a warning, Chuck would be

dead instead of wounded, and she's the one who gave him first aid."



"Oh? Quite a change from her former attitude, isn't it?"



"Considerable," Odeon agreed. "Enough that I told her I'd ask if she

could listen while you interviewed the prisoners. She won't interfere,

I'm sure of it."



"In that case, all right." Cortin stopped while they were still out of

earshot of the prisoners. "Ask her to join us, then go get Tiny; I

think the two of you flanking me ought to provide a certain amount of

incentive for the Brothers to answer my questions."



Odeon grinned. "Will do--I like that idea."



As he left, Cortin turned to Bradford. "Okay, Brad, what's this about

unexpected problems? You and Dave should be able to handle anything

that came up in the field as well as I could. Especially with your new

truthsense."



"In that respect, yes," Bradford acknowledged. "But he and I think

what we've found out is going to take your authority to deal with. I

don't want to prejudice you, though, so I'll let you do your own

questioning and deciding."



Cortin was both puzzled and intrigued by his statements. Something

unusual was definitely going on here, and since she'd be finding out in

a few minutes anyway, she decided not to push Bradford on that subject.

She didn't see Odeon on the way back yet, so she changed the subject.

"How was the inspection trip?"



"Better than we expected," Bradford said. "A lot of Archangel's public

buildings survived better than we had any right to expect--not intact,

but not needing major repairs, either--so there are facilities

available with minimum expense for both Archducal Enforcement and

Strike Force HQ. The Governor's Mansion should make you a decent

Archducal Palace, and some of the hotels can be modified for Family

living."



"What about the people? They must have gotten some idea of what's

going to be happening."



"Just speculation, so far, but what I heard was pretty accurate--and

popular. I'd say His Majesty knew what he was doing when he picked you

a fief."



Cortin grinned. "From everything I've seen, His Majesty usually does.

I'm glad to hear it went so well--did Ivan come back with you?"



"Yes--and he's come up with a 'territorial' insignia I'd love to wear."



Cortin would have pursued that, but there was no time; Odeon was

returning, with Blackfeather and Pritchett close behind him, and Bain

was approaching from the holding pen. She moved forward, signalling

Bain to stop. When the group had joined him, now within earshot of the

prisoners, she asked, "Have you done any preliminaries, Lieutenant?"



"Yes, ma'am, but with some exceptions Colonel Bradford has probably

told you about, nothing very productive. None of the hard-cores want

to volunteer anything, and Mother Superior won't hear of an Inquisitor

working on a wounded man under her care."



"Of course not." Cortin couldn't blame her for that, though getting

immediate information would have been helpful. "All right, bring them

over one at a time. It shouldn't take more than two or three questions

to separate them--though with you and Colonel Bradford talking about

unexpected problems, I could be wrong."



"Not exactly," Bain said. "Best you see for yourself, though; to me,

it's at least close to the worst of the Brothers' atrocities."



Cortin frowned, more puzzled than ever. A Brothers' atrocity she

hadn't heard about seemed impossible, but Dave believed what he was

saying, and Brad was nodding agreement. Well, she'd learn about it in

a few minutes, from the ones who'd done it. "All right, have the first

one brought over."



Bain turned to face the holding pen and gave the appropriate hand

signals, then turned back; moments later, troopers brought the first

prisoner out. He looked about 45, his expression frightened, but

seeming hopeful as well--not at all a normal reaction, and it puzzled

her. She frowned to herself, but decided her curiosity would have to

wait. "Were you in charge of this raid?" she asked.



The man shook his head. "No, Lady," he said respectfully. "I wasn't

in charge; I'm not even a Brother."



"True. Well, then, do you have any information you think I might find

useful?"



The man shook his head. "I'm afraid not, Lady."



Cortin frowned again, this time openly. He was afraid, yes--but his

fear seemed to be of the idea she'd think him a Brother or have any

information, which was interesting. And worth pursuing, even though

she was supposedly here to evaluate prisoners. "Not likely that you

have any information, or not likely I'd find it useful?"



"Either, Lady. I'm an honest farmer. Or was, till those bas--uh,

Brothers--killed my wife and kidnapped my little girl. They said

they'd kill her too, unless . . . unless I helped them." His shoulders

slumped. "They've probably killed her anyway--or worse. But I can't

take that chance."



Cortin took a deep breath, let it out slowly. Dave was right, she

thought; this was one of the worst of the Brothers' atrocities, and it

made her coldly furious. Forcing outsiders to help in horror-raids by

threats to their families went beyond her conception--until now--of

even the Brothers' depravity. "I believe you," she said, and showed

him the back of one hand. "Any Inquisitor who wears this mark knows

when someone's telling the truth, and no one who hasn't committed a

crime will be punished. You'll be taken to the Detention Center,

though, for detailed questioning. Enforcement will use any information

you can give us to try to rescue your daughter, so be as thorough as

you can; sometimes a tiny detail you think useless can be the key.

After that, I'm afraid, you'll be kept in protective custody--" She

broke off at his expression. "Protective custody, I said! Think,

man--if we turn you loose, the Brothers can still use that threat

against you. There's no guarantee what'll happen with you and whoever

else is in the same situation in custody, but there's no doubt what'll

happen if you're not. And I'll see it's as comfortable for you as it

can be. Do you know how many others are in your situation?"



The man shrugged. "Maybe half of this group; I couldn't say how many

anywhere else. You will save Catherine?"



"We'll do our best," Cortin promised. "In fact-- Colonel Bradford?"



"Yes, Excellency?"



"Can you arrange for a special Enforcement task force devoted to

finding these . . . hostages?"



"As soon as we return to base, Excellency. And may I suggest you offer

these men employment in Archangel under Strike Force protection until

their families can be rescued, or confirmed dead?"



"Mmm. It would give them something to do and provide income . . ." She

turned to the man. "Would you be interested in that sort of offer?"



"Yes, if it was something I could do--better than sitting around

sweating it out."



"Reconstructing and fixing up some prewar buildings," Bradford told

him. "Headquarters for His Majesty's Strike Force, and Her Grace's

Archducal Palace and Enforcement headquarters."



The man looked from Bradford to Cortin. "I can do that, Lady. Thank

you. And I believe you will find Catherine, if she's still alive."



"As I said, we'll do our best." Her job-related questioning over with

this man, she thought it reasonable to ask about his odd phrasing.

"Now--why do you keep calling me Lady?"



"I can't think of any other good term, Lady."



"Interesting," Cortin said slowly. "I have plenty of titles, yet you

pick one of the few I can't claim. Who or what do you think I am?"



"Not think, Lady Protector--I know." The man knelt, bowing his head.

"I've just confessed to the Priest-Captain--may I have Your blessing?"



Cortin looked at Odeon, feeling a twinge of dismay. This man honestly

believed she was the Protector, not just His Herald--and that was a

frightening idea, one she wanted to deny. Odeon was nodding slightly,

though, and Jeshua had told her not to deny it if she were called

either Herald or Protector--so she blessed the man, then raised him to

his feet, disturbed by the expression of open worship on his face. If

she couldn't deny being the Protector, she supposed she'd have to learn

to live with that attitude--but she didn't think it would be easy.



"One last favor, Lady, if You don't mind?" the man said hesitantly.



"What is it?"



"I'd . . . like to pay You the proper respects, if I knew how. The

right ceremonies, any special devotions . . . You know."



That was something Cortin could understand and agree with; even if the

man was misdirected, piety was important to the Protector's success.

And if one Aspect told her not to deny being its object, surely the

Triune would take it as it was intended . . . She turned to Odeon.

"Will you and Lieutenant Chang see to that, Captain?"



"With pleasure, Excellency," Odeon said, then turned to the man. "Want

a cartridge, until Lieutenant Chang and I can brief you? I usually

carry a couple of spares."



"Cartridge? Oh!" The man's initial puzzlement turned to eagerness.

"Yes, Captain, please. Does that mean you're Her priest as well as

Jeshua's?"



"Lieutenant Chang and I, yes; Her priests'll generally be working in

pairs." Odeon dug into a pocket and handed the man one of Joanie's

holy-medal equivalents. "This isn't as helpful as the Communion of

Promise, of course, and certainly not up to the Sealing, but we'll get

those to you too, as soon as we can."



"I appreciate that, Father." The man turned to Cortin, genuflected.

"Thank You, Lady."



"My pleasure," Cortin replied--realizing, to her surprise, that it

really was. She turned to Bain. "See that he and the rest who turn

out to be press-ganged are interviewed, thoroughly but courteously,

then interned according to the terms Colonel Bradford and I discussed."



"Of course, Excellency." Bain turned to the man. "Shall we go? Her

Excellency has a lot of work to do."



As they left, Cortin signalled for the next prisoner to be brought.

This one also turned out to be a conscript, but the next two were

actual Brothers, and the one after that looked like Shannon, though his

eyes told her he wasn't; he was the leader, despite his attempts to

deny it. She had him held separately, to be taken to the Lodge, then

continued the evaluation.



She'd lost count of how many she'd questioned, but only a few remained

in the holding pen when she realized she'd seen this one before, in far

different circumstances. Smiling grimly, she rubbed the backs of her

hands as though the Seals on their backs were still scars.



"Colonel?" Odeon said softly.



"He helped put the originals there," Cortin said, just as softly. "I

recognize him; I want him to recognize me too, and I look a lot

different from the way they left me." The man's face was burned as

deeply into her mind as the Brothers' marks had been into her hands;

while this one hadn't been the leader, he'd had no hesitation in taking

part in the massacre, or in helping to beat, rape, and maim her. She

planned to really enjoy this first truly personal part of her revenge,

she thought as the guards brought him to a halt facing her. "You know

me," she said, making sure he saw the backs of her hands. "You helped

inflict the originals of these, among other things; I'm sure you

remember."



The Brother's lip curled. "I remember all right, Bitch. Next time you

won't get off that easy--the Raidmaster says we're going to have real

Inquisitors of our own soon, with His Holiness' blessing--so we can

free the Systems of you and your blasphemies!" He grinned at her, not

pleasantly. "And dear God, how I'd love to see them playing with you!"



"If you enjoy threatening, go ahead," Cortin said, a little surprised

at herself. She'd thought she might be frightened if--or rather

when--she came to confront her torturers again; she was pleased to find

that this time, at least, that wasn't the case. She was more disturbed

by the idea of trained terrorist Inquisitors working with Shayan's

backing. At the moment, though-- "I doubt you'll be around to know if

your threats are realized, much less enjoy the results. Lieutenant

Pritchett?"



"Yes, Excellency?"



Odeon's voice interrupted, urgently. "By Your Excellency's leave!"



Cortin glanced at him in surprise. "What is it, Captain?"



"This is one of the Brothers I also have a personal matter to settle

with, Excellency. A severe beating of someone I love, in addition to

the other things done to her."



So that was his personal reason for joining the Strike Force! It'd

taken her long enough to learn it, Cortin thought, since she hadn't

thought it a good idea to ask him. "In that case, Captain, yours had

best take precedence. Just make sure, please, that he isn't damaged

too badly for questioning."



"No worse than second stage," Odeon promised. He'd like to do more,

but he wouldn't interfere with either her job or her revenge.

"Lieutenant Bain has agreed to monitor, to assure that."



"In that case, he's in your custody; secure him in Suite Bravo when

you're finished, and inform me. Lieutenant Pritchett, please provide

any assistance Captain Odeon requires."



"With pleasure, Excellency." Pritchett reached out a big hand and

pulled the Brother toward him, grinning widely. "Come with me, little

man. We've got some real interesting plans for you." He turned to

Cortin. "We'll turn him over to guards for the trip to the Lodge, Your

Excellency, then be right back."



"Very good, Lieutenant." When they left, Cortin continued the

separation, but her primary concern remained her former tormentor and

what he'd said about the Brothers soon having real Inquisitors of their

own. They'd always had amateur Inquisitors, of course, and

occasionally--temporarily--a real one who'd gone rogue. That was

something else she'd definitely have to question him about, but just

the information she had so far was enough to disturb her deeply. Civil

Inquisitors were necessary to investigate, and in many capital cases

punish, crime. That was difficult enough, sometimes, even though crime

for the most part was objective, not dependent on intent. Sin, on the

other hand, was dependent on intent, and the ancient Terran Holy

Inquisition had proven that religious Inquisitors were more likely to

drive people away from God than bring them to Him.



Which, she thought grimly, would serve Shayan's ends perfectly. She

couldn't be certain why he wanted souls, but the fact that he did was

beyond question. Any people his Church Inquisitors drove away from God

would end up as his subjects in Hell--and if they were effective enough

at that, there could be an Infernal population explosion.



Population explosion. Cortin frowned at that thought. If they were

accepted, Families could, and hopefully would, provide that sort of

increase in the Systems. Which would give Shayan a chance at the

larger number, which would explain why there'd been nothing from the

Vatican objecting to that part of what she was trying to do. Her

theory might be wrong, she acknowledged, but it felt right, and she

knew nothing that would contradict it. At least it was some sort of

explanation, better that the total lack she'd had before.



* * * * *



Cortin joined her team for the return to Harmony Lodge, riding in a

command van for what felt like the first time in years. It took longer

than the Fleet helicopter would have, but by the time they got home,

she'd been fully briefed on the action, and her opinion of Blackfeather

had gone up several notches.



As they entered the outskirts of New Denver, she turned her attention

to the reporter. "The convent raid ends the cover on the Strike Force,

Sara. Their Majesties agree that news should be broken by a Sealed

representative; as the only Sealed member of the press, and the only

reporter who was there, you're the logical one to do so. At my

request, you'll also be allowed to do the first stories about the

existence of Family Cortin and the new Archduchy; no other reporters

will be officially briefed until tomorrow morning. That should give

you adequate time, I think."



"More than adequate," Blackfeather said. "Since I knew I'd be able to

publish soon, those two stories are already written--but I hadn't

expected that much of a lead. Thanks!"



"You've earned it. And thank you for saving Chuck's life."



Blackfeather shrugged. "I've changed my opinion of Enforcement,

Colonel. Before Mike did what he did for me, I'd probably have enjoyed

watching a trooper die, though I can't be sure since it never came up.

I'm glad to find out that now I'm not like that." She shook her head,

her expression rueful. "It seems my attitude's become exactly the

opposite of what it was, in fact. I used to defend the Brothers, you

know."



Cortin nodded. "I know, and say the troopers who were hurt or killed

fighting them deserved what they got. The only thing I could find in

your favor then was that you believed what you were saying."



"I couldn't do that now," Blackfeather said. "It's not just seeing

Brothers and troopers in action for the first time, though that did

help crystallize my new feelings. Mostly it's seeing the Family being

a family, seeing the Special Ops troopers I thought were the worst

playing with kids and kittens, and . . . well, the part I'm not going

to be able to write about because no one who hasn't at least been

around it could possibly believe it. But being troopers--especially an

Inquisitor--gives you a whole new kind of understanding."



"You liked being part of Dave, in particular?"



"Oddly enough, yes." Blackfeather hesitated. "They're all good men,

but there's something special about Dave . . . something I have a hard

time describing, even if I am a reporter. A special kind of idealism,

maybe . . . tougher, not that any of them are soft . . ."



"I know what you mean," Cortin said, glancing around at the rest of the

team and getting nods. Unity during sex was most intense between man

and woman, but it was there between any Sealed; they'd all felt what

Blackfeather was talking about, with her, Bain, or both.



"He reminds me of Larry, in a way," Blackfeather went on, surprising

them. "So do you. Because in his own way, he's an idealist too--even

though I'm not sure he knows that, or would believe it. An idealist

who's turned cynical, soured against just about everything--but I

believe there's still a tiny bit of him that wants the same things we

do."



Chang gave the reporter an appraising look, then turned to Cortin. "I

believe we may have a truly virtuous person among us, Joan. Not merely

sinless, but virtuous--willing to believe the best of people, which I

find surprising for a reporter."



"I doubt I'll be a reporter much longer," Blackfeather said. "What Sis

calls a virtue isn't, in my particular field; once I've filed these

three stories, backing Enforcement, the Families, and Colonel Cortin, I

fully expect to be fired. So would any of you happen to know of any

job openings for an ex-reporter?"



"How about historian?" Odeon asked. "We need one, with a reporter's

training, while it's still early enough to get an accurate account of

what's happening. The First and Second Testaments were written by

groups, edited by others, and translated by still others; after that

many opportunities for intentional or accidental change, we might not

know what the originals really said." He made a wry face. "Yes, I

believe everyone involved was inspired. As investigators, though, we

all know humans are fallible--with or without inspiration. But they

didn't have modern publishing; given a press run of ten or fifteen

thousand, by one writer and in the original language, there'll always

be a totally genuine version somewhere."



To Odeon's surprise, Blackfeather snickered. "You've got your

historian, Mike--but if you believe a press run as low as ten or

fifteen thousand, it's sure clear you're no publisher! On this

particular subject, especially with Colonel Cortin involved, go up a

couple of orders of magnitude. A million or million and a half copies

wouldn't be an unreasonable estimate of sales, even at a price double

or triple that of a standard book. A copy she autographed would be

worth . . . well, even my imagination isn't quite that wild!"



"Even better," Odeon said.



"You do know, though, that it'll mean interviews to get everything you

remember that has anything to do with Joan--and that the result won't

leave you much, if any, privacy. You don't get a major social

revolution by hiding the sort of personal behavior you're trying to

encourage--even though other people may choose to do so."



"Sis and I figured as much," Odeon said. "We talked it over, between

us and with the rest of the team, and it's necessary. There's going to

be a lot written about what we're doing, one way or the other, and

we're agreed one of them has to be accurate. So you'll get full

cooperation."



"Including an Inquisitor's help," Bain said. "Colonel Bradford's the

best you'll find at the memory-enhancing techniques we use with

cooperative subjects, but I'm no slouch; you may get more information

than you can use."



"More than I can include, maybe," Blackfeather said, "but not more than

I can use, if only as background." She turned to Cortin. "What about

you, Colonel?"



Cortin grimaced and looked pleadingly at Odeon. "Do I have to, Mike?"



"You're my Family head, Archduchess, and Commanding Officer, not to

mention the Protector's Herald; I can't say you have to. But I'd

recommend it pretty strongly."



Cortin sighed. "Mike, for someone who claims to be a subordinate, you

give the most convincing orders . . . all right, all right, I'll

cooperate." She turned to Blackfeather. "I will, too. But I don't

promise to like it--and you probably won't like what you hear if you

think you need to go into what I do in my interrogations."



"I'd rather not, but I probably will." Blackfeather made a face.

"Being both Larry's mistress and several Enforcement officers has given

me a new perspective on that, too. Especially, as I may have mentioned

before, being Dave."



Several of the team chuckled. "You did," Bain said, "and it was

flattering--but if you want to be two of the best in the business, ask

Brad and Ivan. I'm good, or I wouldn't be on Team Azrael; those two

are second only to Joan."



"I'll have to ask, then, next time I see them," Blackfeather said.



"That should be tonight," Odeon said. "I invited Brad, and he said

he'd pass it on to Ivan; if they possibly can, they'll both be at our

home Communion service."



Blackfeather smiled. "Good!" Then she sobered, turning back to

Cortin. "I don't like to mention this, Colonel, and I'll like getting

involved with it even less, but the history should definitely include

your work, too."



Cortin was silent. Blackfeather was right, inarguably so; the

Protector whose Herald she was embodied Justice as well as Love, and

Justice wasn't always pleasant. It could be, of course, when rewarding

virtue, but punishment was usually pleasant only to the punished's

victims or their survivors--never to the punished, seldom to observers,

and only through God's Mercy was it satisfying to the punishers.



"Very well," she said at last. "You may have access to the films of my

interrogations, and observe any you think necessary from now on. But I

have to warn you, you won't find any of it enjoyable."



"I don't expect to," Blackfeather said. "My job's gotten me into

unpleasant situations before, though, and I can cope. I think I should

start with the one you and Mike have personal reasons to work on."



"You know our reasons?"



"I'm sure of yours--it was in the news enough--and I can guess at

Mike's, yes."



"As you wish, then," Cortin said. "It's too late to get started

tonight, though, and Brad and Ivan should be here any minute. Why not

get your stories filed, then we'll take the rest of the night off?"



* * * * *



Their guests arrived while Blackfeather was still working. The Family

adults greeted them warmly, but waited for more till Blackfeather was

finished and had rejoined them in the common-room. When she had,

Cortin pointed to the new insignia on both men's collars. "Ivan, I

know I told you to design a territorial emblem--but isn't that a bit

presumptuous? And Brad, how come you're wearing it?"



Illyanov smiled. "It is not presumptuous at all, beloved, nor is it

really territorial. I could think of nothing, so I prayed, and that

night dreamed of this. We are the Protector's, after all; what more

natural than that we should wear the sword and rose you and Michael

chose for our first altar?"



"And as he said," Bradford continued, "it isn't really territorial. It

didn't make much sense to us to have Sealed troopers limited to one

jurisdiction, and Their Highnesses agreed. So did His Majesty when

they approached him, and the other Sovereigns when King Mark approached

them--because we were informed shortly after my return to the Palace

that we are now extraterritorial. Not just Strike Force, but all

Sealed troopers--so all of you need new insigne, which we've brought."

He smiled, handing them out. "Ivan had several hundred made, for when

the Protector manifests, but these are all we need for now. I sent

some to Tony and Chuck, too, so they'll be in correct uniform when

Mother Gabriel releases them."



"That was thoughtful of you--thanks." Cortin smiled, then glared at

both of them. "One of you could have called me with a little advance

warning, I should think! Isn't it bad enough that His Majesty keeps

pulling this sort of surprise on me?"



"It is fun to surprise you when we have the chance," Illyanov said.

"Would you deny us a bit of harmless entertainment?"



Cortin chuckled ruefully. "Put that way, of course not--how could I?

But someday I may be able to pull the same thing on you, be warned!"



"We shall consider ourselves properly warned indeed," Illyanov agreed.



"Good enough." Cortin moved her shoulders uncomfortably, but maybe it

would help the discomfort she still felt if she did talk about what had

happened with the farm-folk this afternoon. "Until then, I need some

moral support. Something scary happened while I was questioning the

first conscript today--since you weren't all in earshot, and Ivan

wasn't there at all, can I describe it?"



"Please," Illyanov said.



Cortin did. When the description was over, she said, "I can't really

describe how it felt, though. He honestly believed I am the Protector,

was worshipping me. I was told not to deny that identification, so I

didn't--but dear God, it was frightening! And several of the others

were almost as bad. Being treated like the Herald is awful enough;

being treated like the Protector Herself is . . . I don't know, I don't

have the right word. I don't think I'd like it even if I were Her. Or

Him."



"Whether you did or not would have little bearing," Illyanov said.

"God does not need to be worshipped; He--or She--requires it of us

because it is we who need to worship, and if we do not worship God, we

will worship someone or something less worthy."



"That makes sense," Cortin said. "It's not what I'd choose, but I've

been frightened and embarrassed before, without a Family for support.

I suppose I'll learn to live with it--I'll have to, since I don't have

any choice."



"You also have the support of the rest of us who are Sealed," Illyanov

said, leaning over to kiss her. "Would you like me--or us--to spend

the night?"



"Either or both, any time--which you know. But what about your

families?"



"Mine went directly to Archangel and is busy moving in, with Delia's

help. Brad's, I believe, is preparing for the move."



"They are," Bradford said, "so I can't stay past Communion--I have to

help, as long as I'm in town."



Cortin grinned, her mood lightening. "Too bad for you, Brad; that

means Sara'll have to wait for unity with you. Though not with Ivan,

if he's willing."



Both men bowed in the historian's direction, and Bradford spoke first.

"I'm sorry to have to postpone something so delightful, but hopefully

it won't have to be for long."



"I, on the other hand, will be pleased to join you as soon as you

wish," Illyanov said, smiling.



Bain grinned. "Don't waste any time, Sara; grab him right after

Communion."



Blackfeather was definitely attracted to the handsome

Inquisitor-Colonel, but she wasn't used to such openness about sex yet;

though she remembered the previous evening's post-Communion lovemaking

clearly, it didn't seem quite real. Now she was being urged to make

love to a man she'd barely met . . . at least she'd known the Family

men, if only briefly . . .



Chang chuckled. "It is not difficult to see you find him attractive;

with both of you Sealed, that is a strong indication you are

compatible. Given that, what better way to become friends?"



Odd though it seemed, Blackfeather thought, that was reasonable.

"After Communion, then, if that's agreeable."



"Most agreeable," Illyanov said. "Michael?"



"Just a minute," Cortin said. "Can I get a couple of quick updates

first?"



"Of course."



"Thanks. Brad, what about the special rescue teams?"



"Being organized. I put Major Grunwald on it, so they should be ready

to go in a week."



"Good! Sis, Mike--the press-ganged ones?"



"They are in the Detention Center's spare barracks," Chang said. "Dave

and Mike heard confessions, then Mike got permission to say Mass a

second time for them, and we gave them the Communion of Promise. I

believe we shall also have to devise some additional forms of both

public and private devotions."



"I suppose so." Cortin sighed. "Brad, do you have anyone who can

handle that? None of us are liturgists."



"As it happens--" Everyone, Bradford included,

laughed--"Inquisitor-Lieutenant Andrews at the Center is good, and

would appreciate the challenge. I'll call him as soon as I get home.

And this time I will warn you: he's one of those who believes you are

the Protector, so you probably won't appreciate his efforts. But

they'll be well-done."



Cortin grimaced. "As Ivan said, devotions are for the devotees, not

the objects of that devotion. If He doesn't mind, I don't suppose I

can. And I suppose I should take a look at whatever your liturgist

comes up with. So should Mike and Sis."



"He'll expect that, and to have you critique his work. He's

conscientious; he'll want to be sure it's right. Can we dedicate

tonight's service to that intention?"



"I don't see why not," Odeon said. "Sis?"



"It seems most fitting. I would suggest we also ask that the Protector

ordain more priests, either through us or through the Herald, to be

prepared when we may begin Sealing those outside the current group."



"You're Herald, Joanie," Odeon said. "What do you think?"



"Since we don't have any idea when He'll manifest, I'm in favor of it.

Anyone who feels the call should be ordained, even though the only ones

who can feel it are the ones Sealed to Him."



"Right. Everyone ready for services, then?"





For Shayan's reaction: 23a. Waiting